I knew I couldn’t stand there, frozen. To do so would draw more attention to myself, and that would only increase the chance of them approaching me, and if they did—I was done for. I knew they wouldn’t let me go into the house to get my papers—that would be an act of kindness, and kindness was not something the Nazis felt the Poles deserved. They considered us to be Untermensch, or subhuman—only slightly above the Jews on their perverted racial scale of worth. I had to act busy—I had to be busy—wasn’t that how we were to save ourselves? Be productive, keep the farm working, produce at any cost—this had been our mantra since the invasion. I tried to convince myself that strategy would save me now too, even in the face of such direct intensity from this soldier. The trickle of adrenaline in my system turned to a flood, and I felt sweat running own my spine right along with it. I started to move, but my movements were jerky and my palms were so damp, and when I bent to pick up my wicker basket, it slipped straight back into the dirt. The hundreds of berries I’d picked all tumbled out, and I looked back up in a panic to see the soldier laughing scornfully, mocking me without a single word.

I dropped to my knees and began to scoop the berries up. My hands were shaking so hard that I couldn’t coordinate the movements and each time I lifted a handful of berries toward the basket, I’d drop as many as I rescued. I didn’t need to look up to know his eyes were still on me. I could feel the intensity of his attention as if he could somehow stare all the way through my clothes. If I ran, they would shoot me, and I was too terrified to think clearly enough to find some work I could legitimately do that might take me away from his view. I was stuck naked under his stare, exposed to his gaze in the light summer dress I had chosen with such innocent optimism and the hopes of a pleasant afternoon in the sun.

At the house, I could hear the older soldier and Father attempting a conversation in German, but it was stilted and awkward because Father knew only a little more German than I did. There was a quiet discussion, then Father said something about Os´wie˛cim, a town not far from ours.

And all the while, the young soldier stared at me.

The older soldier barked at Father, and then spun on his heel in the dust and turned back toward his car. That’s when the younger soldier spoke for the first time. He turned lazily toward Father, cast a disdainful look toward my parents, and then looked right at me again as he spoke just loud enough for me to hear a rapid-fire sentence that I couldn’t translate. The older soldier called to him, and the two piled into the car, and then they left.

I collapsed into the dirt, confused by how tense that moment had been, and confused as to why even now that they were gone, my stomach was still rolling violently. I pressed my hands to my belly, so focused on the discomfort within my body that I barely noticed Mama approaching.

“You are okay,” she said abruptly. “We are okay.”

“I didn’t have my papers on me,” I choked. Mama groaned impatiently.

“Alina, if they had checked...”

“I know,” I said, my voice breaking. “I know, Mama. I keep forgetting but... I’ll try to be more careful next time.”

“No,” Mama snapped, shaking her head. “You forget all the damned time, Alina. We won’t risk it again. I’ll hold your papers for you, and we’ll make sure if you are outside in the field, I am close beside you.”

The cage around me was shrinking, but after the five minutes that had just passed, I didn’t mind that one bit.

“What did they want?” I asked Mama.

“They were lost—they needed directions to the barracks. Father thinks they were looking for Os´wie˛cim,” she said, then she looked toward the hill, her gaze distant for a moment. When she looked at me again, her eyebrows knit. “I...you must wear a scarf in the fields, or one of Father’s hats. You should...always now you must hide your hair. And you must...” She looked down at my body, and she ran her hand through her own hair. “Perhaps you must wear your brothers’ clothes...” She trailed off again, then gave me a searching, somewhat-helpless look. “Do you understand what I am telling you, Alina?”

“Did I do something wrong, Mama? What did that soldier say to me?”

“He was speaking to Father,” Mama said, then she sighed. “He told Father that he has a pretty daughter.” She met my gaze, and she raised her eyebrows. “We must do everything we can to ensure that the next passing soldier does not see a pretty daughter. We cannot hide you away altogether, so you must try to hide yourself in other ways. Yes?”

I never, ever wanted to feel so exposed ever again. I wanted to burn that summer dress and wear a coat everywhere I went for the rest of my life. I’d never really thought about my appearance too much before—but that day, I hated the way I looked. I hated my thick, chestnut hair and my wide blue eyes and I loathed the curve of my breasts and hips. If there had been a way to make myself invisible, I’d happily have taken it. I was tempted to rush inside and change into my brothers’ large, boring clothes right that second.

Mama dropped to her knees beside me and helped me collect the last of the berries I’d dropped.

“If they ever approach you,” she said suddenly, “do not struggle. Do you understand me, Alina? You let them do what they...” It was so rare for her to search for words. I squeezed my eyes shut, and she reached across and gripped my forearm until I opened them again. “There is no need for them to kill you if they can get what they want from you. Just remember that.”

I shook my head, and Mama’s grip on my arm became painfully tight.

“Rape is a weapon, Alina,” she said. “Just as killing our leaders was a weapon, and taking our boys was a weapon, and starving us half to death is a weapon. They see you are strong in the face of all of their other tactics so they will try to control you in other ways—they will try to take your strength from the inside. If they come for you, be smart and brave enough to overcome the instinct to try to flee or resist. Then, even if they hurt your body, you will survive.”

I sobbed once, but she held my gaze until I nodded through my tears. Only then did her gaze soften.

“Alina,” she sighed. “Now do you understand why we do not want you to go into the town? We are all vulnerable. We are all powerless. But you, my daughter...you are naive and you are beautiful...that leaves you at risk in ways you are only beginning to understand.”

“Yes, Mama,” I choked. Frankly, I never wanted to leave the house again, let alone the farm. Any thought of visiting the town was forgotten for a long while after that day.

It wasn’t the only time the soldiers came to our gate—spot checks for our papers and random visits to unnerve us soon became a way of life. Those moments were always terrifying, but never again did I feel so exposed, because that was the last time a soldier came to our gate and found me working alone in a field. Mama was always near me after that day, with our identity papers nestled safely in the pockets of her undergarments. That day was also the very last time a soldier visited to find me wearing my own clothes, and the last time anyone ever came to our gate and found me with my long hair down around my shoulders.